CHAPTER XVII.
DRIVEN TO DESPERATION.
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For only this night, as they whispered, I brought My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought, Could I keep them one half-minute fixed—she would fall Shrivelled!—She fell not; yes, this does it all.—Browning |
As the circle revolved before them, Sybil saw no one but Lyon Berners and Rosa Blondelle, and these she saw always—with her eyes, when they were before them; with her spirit, when they had revolved away from them. She saw him hold close to his heart the arm that leaned on his arm; she saw him press her hand, and play with her fingers, and look love in the glances of his eyes, and speak love in the tones of his voice, although no word of love had been uttered as yet.
At last—oh! deliverance from torture!—the music ceased, the promenaders dispersed to their seats.
The relief was but short! The band soon struck up a popular quadrille, and the gentlemen again selected their partners and formed sets. Lyon Berners, who had conducted his fair companion to a distant seat, now led her forth again, and stood with her at the head of one of the sets.
“There! you see! they are lovers! I wonder who he is?” whispered Death, leaning to Sybil’s ear.
Sybil bit her lip and answered nothing.
“Ah! you do not know, or will not tell! Well, will you honor me with your hand in this quadrille?” requested the stranger, with a bow.